


i fall to pieces when i'm with you

by UbiquitousMixie



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Control, F/F, Orgasm Denial, Sibling Incest, Spellcest, going to hell and whatnot, sisters literally doing it for themselves, this is completely a play on the whole "I hold the remote to the vibrator in your underwear" trope, using magic for sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 02:26:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17499824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UbiquitousMixie/pseuds/UbiquitousMixie
Summary: Beneath Hilda’s bubbly exterior lies a devious streak.





	i fall to pieces when i'm with you

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is nothing but smut that borders on crack. I couldn't resist adapting this particular trope for our favorite witches, so I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it. Comments are everything, so let me know what you think!  
> Title is from Cherry by Lana del Ray.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that Hilda Spellman has a disposition like the sun: warm, comforting, life-giving. 

It is less well-known, however, that beneath Hilda’s bubbly exterior lies a devious streak. 

This deviousness is almost exclusively reserved for her sister, and it gives Zelda a delicious thrill whenever it comes out despite the fact that it invariably means she will be all but begging for mercy. 

Zelda will beg for no one but Hilda. 

When Zelda appears in the kitchen, she can tell by the wicked glint in her sister’s bright blue eyes that she is up to something. “There is mischief in your eyes,” Zelda says, approaching her sister where she stands at the counter. Gripping Hilda’s hips, she tugs her in close, and asks, “What are you up to, sister?” Zelda brushes her mouth against Hilda’s, savoring the way the younger woman’s breath hitches in her throat. 

“I thought we might have some fun today,” Hilda replies, nipping her teeth playfully at Zelda’s bottom lip.

Zelda raises an eyebrow. “What sort of fun?” 

There is that glint again, and a delighted shiver courses down Zelda’s spine. “You’ll see,” Hilda promises serenely, peppering Zelda’s mouth with teasing, feather-light kisses. 

She has so enjoyed having fun with her sister. 

Hilda wriggles herself free, winking at Zelda as she reaches the oven just before the timer rings. “Orange and cranberry scones,” Hilda announces, bending down to remove the baking sheet from the oven. 

Zelda can’t help but stare. Hilda is wearing a dress -- one of her favorites, a blue and orange number that dips low in the bust and drapes over her curves -- but has foregone her ubiquitous bulky sweater, leaving Zelda’s view of Hilda’s round, perfect backside unobstructed. 

She swallows, and when Hilda sets to assembling the scones on a plate, Zelda busies herself by pouring coffee with trembling hands. She stirs in a splash of milk and tries not to think of how desperately she longs to sink her teeth into the perfect globe of her sister’s ass. 

_”Naughty,”_ Hilda admonishes, and Zelda flushes when their eyes meet. Before she can comment on Hilda’s mind-reading, the blonde witch’s full lips draw into a smirk as she touches her earlobe. 

Zelda bites her lip to stifle a yelp when the lacy undergarments beneath her skirt begin to vibrate. The patch of fabric directly against her sex pulses with a sharp frisson of electricity and Zelda drops her spoon as she reaches a hand back to brace herself on the counter. 

Hilda lets go of her earlobe, and the vibrations stop. 

“Hilda…” she says breathlessly.

“Yes, sister?” Hilda asks sweetly, eyes greedily drinking in the sight of Zelda’s flushed skin. 

“Don’t you dare,” Zelda warns, picking up the spoon before she takes her seat at the breakfast table. 

But dare Hilda does, and those wicked fingers are once more touching her ear and the vibrations resume. Zelda’s hips shift in the chair, chasing the sensation, and her thighs clench together, intensifying the feeling. Her heart pounds at the instant readiness of her body, this delicious feeling beneath her composed exterior, Hilda’s eyes watching every moment, completely in control.

It is exhilarating. 

Hilda lets go of her ear. 

“You can’t stop,” Zelda says firmly, swallowing a lump in her throat. Her cunt aches. She can feel the wetness making her slick and ready. 

Outside the kitchen, there are hurried feet on the landing of the staircase. Hilda touches her ear until the moment Ambrose and Sabrina round the corner into the kitchen.

Zelda can identify at least seven different ways to kill her sister. 

At the counter, where Hilda pours homemade granola into a bowl, she grins. 

Zelda can only blame herself for Hilda’s wicked streak. Hilda had learned early on by the example Zelda had set; her aptitude for deviousness was bred into her. She is, after all, a Spellman.

It only makes Zelda want her more. 

She takes a sip of scalding coffee and opens her Russian newspaper with a snap. She cannot focus on the words, and her hands clench around the paper as the vibrations begin again. She exhales sharply. 

“You okay, Auntie?” Ambrose asks. 

The vibrations stop. 

Zelda licks her lips and issues a sharp, “Yes. Fine.” 

Breakfast is a torturous affair. Hilda is incessant in her teasing, making the fabric between Zelda’s legs hum with silent energy every few minutes. Zelda remains hidden behind her paper, face hot, lips parted, desperation rising. 

She is not likely to survive the morning. 

She can feel the pleasure mounting, can feel the impending crush of her orgasm approach. Zelda wonders just how far her sister will go; they have been careful to shield their niece and nephew from the more intimate aspects of their relationship. Hilda is likely not planning on driving Zelda to orgasm in front of their family, although she suspects Hilda has no idea how far gone she truly is. 

She clit throbs for pressure, for release. 

She won’t last. 

Zelda carefully sets down her newspaper, taking a slow sip of her coffee. She meets Hilda’s gaze with a withering glare and watches those damned fingers continue to play at her ear. She would break them if she weren’t desperate for what they can do. “Don’t you two have to get to the Academy?” she asks slowly, pointed looks directed at Sabrina and Ambrose. “Father Blackwood will not be pleased if you’re l-late.”

Hilda lets go of her ear as Zelda’s voice breaks. Zelda may just let her live after all. 

There is a flurry of activity as Ambrose and Sabrina finish their breakfasts, rinse dishes, and kiss their aunts goodbye. Zelda steadies her breath and smiles wanly at their charges before they leave. 

The front door slamming shut is music to her ears. 

Adjacent to her sister, Hilda props her chin in her hand and takes in the sight of Zelda’s wild eyes. “Are we having fun yet?” 

The copper-haired witch gets to her feet, the screech of the chair loud in the otherwise silent room. “Come here,” Zelda demands. 

Hilda looks at the assortment of makeshift weapons around her -- a fork, a butterknife, those dangerous fingers -- and she shakes her head. “No.” She nods toward the chair. “Sit.” 

And then she touches her ear. 

Zelda groans when the vibrations begin again, her knees giving way as she slumps into her chair. She follows Hilda’s instructions to place her hands on the tabletop as the fabric hums insistently. 

“Oh, Satan,” Zelda whispers, and she darts her tongue out to wet her dry lips. “Hilda.” She spreads her legs as far as her tight skirt will allow, shifting down against the chair, searching for any amount of friction that will force this game to its inevitable conclusion. “Sweet Lucifer, sister…” 

“You look magnificent,” Hilda confesses. “I knew you would. I love to watch you fall to pieces.” 

Zelda groans. “Oh, please, sister…” She presses her palms flat against the table, resisting the urgent temptation to press a hand beneath her skirt. Hilda will surely stop if she does not follow the rules, and Zelda will do anything Hilda commands if it means she will be allowed to come. 

“I love to hear you beg,” Hilda says with a groan, letting go of her ear. Zelda cries out at the loss of sensation, and Hilda smirks. “Do it again for me, love.” 

“Sister, my sister, make me come, or I will do it myself.” 

Hilda chuckles. “You’ll have to try again, Zelds. You can do better than that.” 

Zelda’s clit aches for pressure, for stimulation, for anything other than this neglect, this dull pressure from her thighs. “Hilda, please…” she whispers. 

Fingers again at Hilda’s ear, and Zelda moans as it begins again. “H-hilda, my love, I need…” She closes her eyes and sways, her shoulders hitting the back of the chair. Her back arches, her breasts straining against her suit jacket, her hips bearing down, her thighs tightly locked together, rutting against whatever friction she can find. She tilts her head back, nails scratching against the tabletop, moaning loudly at the Spellman family breakfast table. “Please don’t stop...I’ll kill you if you stop...oh, Satan…” 

“Look at me, Zelda.” 

Dark eyes open, and Zelda’s breath hitches in her throat to see the lust, the hunger, in her sister’s eyes across the table. She bites her lip, gasping as she rocks her hips against the damp, vibrating fabric. “Hilda!” she cries as she comes, her hands gripping the edges of the table to anchor herself as her body arches and writhes in the chair. She rocks her hips against the rush of pleasure, moaning and never wavering from her sister’s gaze. 

“Yes,” she sighs as the tremors begin to subside. She gasps for breath, brushing the hair from her face. 

_”Satan below,”_ Hilda groans, jumping to her feet. She rounds the table and, when she is within reach, Zelda curls her arm around her waist and tugs her closer. 

“Hilda.” This time it’s a growl, and Zelda presses Hilda’s hips against the edge of the table while she rucks her sister’s dress up to her hips. Zelda nips at the softness of her belly while trembling fingers pull Hilda’s cotton knickers down to the floor. 

The older witch’s head spins, cloudy with arousal, and she swipes the flat of her tongue against her sister’s cunt. 

Hilda moans. 

And then she touches her earlobe. 

The vibration is at once too much and not enough, and Zelda whines against Hilda’s swollen, pink folds. She squirms in her chair, unsure if she wants to chase the sensation or shy away from it. But then Hilda is threading her fingers through Zelda’s hair, holding her close as she works her tongue, and Zelda makes an easy decision. With a spell muttered against Hilda’s clitoris, Zelda’s skirt disappears and she spreads her legs wide, slipping her fingers against the soaked fabric of her underwear and pressing it directly against her clit. 

Zelda groans, the sound humming pleasantly against Hilda’s clit, and she delights in the gutteral sounds that escape her sister’s mouth. She is dizzy with need; she works her tongue in tight, fast circles and rocks her hips to meet the stroking of her own fingers. Hilda tastes marvelous and the way the younger witch’s hips shift to meet her mouth makes Zelda lightheaded with need. 

Hilda’s fingers falter at her ear as her own orgasm approaches, and Zelda pulls her mouth away abruptly to say, “Don’t you dare stop.” 

The blonde smirks and touches her ear again. “Sorry...it’s hard to con-concentrate…”

“Try,” she orders, lips fastening around tender flesh. She begins to suck, and Hilda holds onto her earlobe as a litany of sweet words and calls to the Dark Lord fall past her lips. Zelda closes her eyes and works her tongue swiftly. 

Hilda’s thighs begin to shake, and Zelda smirks into her cunt. 

The younger witch comes with a shout, fingers tugging and pulling at rose gold hair. The pain is all Zelda needs to push herself over the edge and as her orgasm descends, her cries are muffled in her sister’s sticky, sweet folds. 

Falling together into bliss has always been Zelda’s favorite game to play with her sister.

The vibrations stop, and Zelda is relieved to hear Hilda whisper the words that put an end to her spell. She wraps her arms around Hilda’s waist, panting, and Hilda folds forward, leaning over her sister. 

“Did you have fun?” Hilda asks tentatively, stroking her fingers against Zelda’s back. 

Zelda kisses Hilda’s stomach before she disentangles herself, standing pristinely before her despite her sticky thighs and missing skirt. “Yes, but I believe it’s my turn to have fun now.” 

Hilda raises an eyebrow. “Oh?” 

“Oh yes,” Zelda says, kissing Hilda softly. “Upstairs, darling sister. Now.” 

\---

**Author's Note:**

> A few of the H/Z writers were talking about how fun it would be to participate in writing challenges, so today a spellcest community was born on Tumblr as a place to organize challenges and talk about how much we love this weird little ship. Come play with us at together-as-sisters.tumblr.com!


End file.
